


(let me) catch my breath

by lincesque



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/lincesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The sky is dark. Pre-dawn is only just starting to creep slowly towards the horizon.</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Are you sure?,” Lothar asks, his breath misting in the cold and he’s frowning at Khadgar as the mage mounts his steed, dark blue cloak settling around him in a graceful swirl. “This is but a regular patrol, we have no real need for magecraft.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	(let me) catch my breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lokitty13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokitty13/gifts).



> well you know what, i finished something for the first time in 2 years /throws party. new fandom guh these two are my precious <3
> 
> title from alan walker's [sing me to sleep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2i2khp_npdE). i'm slowly building an otp playlist lmao /o\
> 
> i'm not well-versed in this fandom (n00b alert!) so please let me know if there are any errors :) thanks for prompting me, [spellchucker-bookworm](http://spellchucker-bookworm.tumblr.com/)! i hope this does your prompt justice :)
> 
> _Khadgar gets hurt mid battle. Lothar can't do anything to help him because of obstacles between them._

The sky is dark. Pre-dawn is only just starting to creep slowly towards the horizon.

“Are you sure?,” Lothar asks, his breath misting in the cold and he’s frowning at Khadgar as the mage mounts his steed, dark blue cloak settling around him in a graceful swirl. “This is but a regular patrol, we have no real need for magecraft.”

“My queen commands,” Khadgar says, with a small wry twitch of his shoulder. “I can only obey.” 

For all his lighthearted words, there’s a weariness in his eyes lit by the flickering torchlight around the stables that belies Khadgar’s youthful face and small frame, and a note of exhaustion that he cannot hide. The war has left its mark on all of them. Perhaps Taria is right in this, as she always is.

Lothar chooses to turn instead of answering and nods an unspoken command to his captain, who barks an order to mount. Their small retinue of twelve - thirteen including their unexpected mage - ride from the castle keep, towards the forest. 

There has been sightings and several tales of robbery by bandits reported to the gate guards by local villagers and visiting merchants alike. Taria had commanded him to lead this patrol personally, a not-so-subtle sign that she was getting tired of him wandering around the castle aimlessly again.

Khadgar has a decent seat on his horse now - shoulders loose, fingers gentle on the reins - Lothar notes absently as cobblestones give way to a dirt track. It’s a vast difference from the tight discomfort and hunched frame from their first ride together. 

It has been months since he had last saw him. Lothar had heard rumours that Khadgar had locked himself away to study the texts that remained from Karazhan without interruptions. Looking at Khadgar now, pale face tilted up to the slowly pinkening sky, eyes closed - almost as if he is savouring the feeling of fresh air - Lothar allows himself to lend a tiny little bit of credence to the rumours.

The sun is still yet to fully rise as they wind their way through the road past small farms and larger grain fields, the soft sway of golden wheat is barely visible in the dim light. The forest is silent in the early morning chill and it seems like even the breeze itself stills as they ride under the foliage proper. For long moments, there’s nothing but the soft crunch of leaves and twigs beneath hooves and the muted rustle of leather boots against leather saddle.

A bird trills above their heads and Khadgar startles a little, glancing up over his shoulder. Lothar looks away to hide the curve of his lips and is just in time to see a small white rabbit shoot right under his horse, scrambling in terror, careless of heavy hooves.

Lothar frowns and jerks his head up, only a predator would threaten a woodland rabbit enough to chase it towards incoming men. He has a split second to see the faint glint of the newly risen sun reflect off sharpened arrowheads and longswords before the first arrow takes his captain through the throat.

“It’s an ambush,” one of the other guardsmen yells from behind him, drawing his sword and wheeling his mount around to guard Lothar’s flank. The other soldiers follow suit, forming a tight circle, shields up. They manage to deflect most of the arrows - until another stray one goes through a guard’s arm and he muffles a curse, shield slipping from his now useless hand.

There’s an unvoiced rumble from beside him, and Lothar feels the prickle of magic ghosting over his skin before he sees the flash of blue expand and shoot upwards. Loud screams from the trees around them is accompanied by half a dozen men tumbling down to the ground with their bows. They are dead before they hit the ground.

Lothar allows himself the the briefest press of relief before a company of men - at least three dozen - crashes through the brush eight or nine lengths before them. Lothar glances behind and sure enough, he sees at least another half dozen blocking their escape.

A line of fire roars, impossibly high, and cuts off both the path behind them and also the enemy at their backs. The sudden proximity of burning heat makes even their battle trained mounts shift warily, eyes rolling with fear.

Lothar tightens his fingers around his reins and glances to his left.

“ _Go_ ,” Khadgar says, magic glints from his eyes and his hands and casts his face into an ethereal, inhuman blue. “I will guard your back.” There’s no hesitation, no tremble in the tips of his fingers or quiver of his voice. He is not the same shy boy-mage who Lothar had met once upon a time, and in a way, he mourns that long-lost innocence even as he basks in the fury of a full mage’s destructive power.

“Just hold,” Lothar tells him, holding that glowing blue gaze for a moment. There’s a tiny crook at the corner of his mouth as he draws his sword and swings his wrist in an almost showy arc. “This will be over before you know it.”

“Guards, with me,” Lothar turns, forcing his eyes from Khadgar, and kicks his mount into a hard canter.

*

Lothar allows them to draw him deeper into the forest, into the midst of dozens more fully armed men, but even together, they stand little chance against him. He plows through their numbers and where he goes death follows, his loyal guardsmen at his side and flanks. 

His gaze is cold as ice even as one after another falls beneath his blade, but Lothar takes little to no pleasure in dealing out death.

He tastes dust and blood in the back of his throat but he is merciless and his blade does not waver, even as the last few men drop their weapons and are forced to their knees with three of his guardsmen’s blades at their throats.

“Orc gold,” one of the eight surviving guardsmen spits as he turns a heavy pouch he found on a dead ambusher inside out. A pile of green-gold coins clink to the dirt floor, their eerie colour is nothing like the glittering yellow-gold sheen of Azeroth sovereigns. “They’re nothing but a band of cut-throat mercenaries.”

“Why us?” Lothar asks one, the most senior looking of the lot, genuinely puzzled. “Even the orcs should know that we are not easy pickings with just your pitiful number of men.”

“They do not want you,” the mercenary says and when he grins, it’s a nasty expression that twists the scar across his cheek into something that’s almost malevolent. He spits at the floor next to Lothar’s boots and croons, “Yer little mage is all by his lonesome guarding yer back. But, I do so wonder who’s guarding _his_?” 

He laughs then, at what he sees on Lothar’s face, loud and wild and hysterical. He continues to laugh even as it turns to a wet gurgle when Lothar slides sharpened steel through his throat, enraged.

There’s the taste of blood souring on his tongue as Lothar jumps on his horse and just rides.

*

The fire is still strong as Lothar storms back into the clearing, his heart beat furious and angry. 

Khadgar is holding his own, barely, one hand casting a barrier in brief bursts to keep the attackers at bay and his other controlling the wall of flames. 

There were more men here than Lothar had realised - five still trapped behind the firewall, several men circling Khadgar and striking out here and there, keeping him off balance. Lothar doesn’t understand what they’re trying to do until he sees the last of the mercenaries sneak up behind Khadgar. He is barely close enough to manage a warning yell. “Behind you.”

Khadgar’s eyes widen at the shout as his glance flickers to Lothar and the mercenary takes his momentary distraction to pounce, using the pommel of his sword to strike across the mage’s face, hard.

The flames roar up higher than before for one brief instant before they flicker and then die out completely as Khadgar crumples to the ground with a soft sound.

Lothar’s heart _stops_.

He throws himself off his horse and rams into the remaining mercenary band, nothing but murder in his eyes and death in the swing of his sword.

The one who touched Khadgar is first to die, sword thrust through the heart, splitting down his ribs, and Lothar does not care that it’s deliberately messy and brutal. The next few fall with single strikes decapitating limbs and heads. 

Lothar bares his teeth at the remainder and there’s nothing but desperate fury in the tight clench of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes. “You would dare touch him? You would try and take him from me as well?” 

The remainder of the mercenaries pause, weapons wavering. None of them live for more than an extra breath, dying where they stand. There is quiet once more, only to be broken by the light drip of blood sliding down Lothar’s sword onto the damp ground and the loud heaves of his breath.

“Commander, he’s still alive.” One of his quick thinking guardsmen crouches over Khadgar, one ungloved hand on the pulse at his neck.

Lothar drops his sword with a muffled clatter and falls to his knees beside him. The guardsman shifts back to his feet and turns politely away, on the pretense of checking for more danger. The remainder of the guards are calming the horses or searching the bodies - none look in Lothar’s direction.

His fingers shake as they leave bloody marks against the too-pale skin of Khadgar’s cheek. Lothar brushes a gentle touch over his face, across his temple, hissing softly at a vivid purple bruise forming around the still-bleeding wound. They come to rest on his chest, feeling the slow methodical beats that signaled precious life.

“Khadgar,” he says, voice a low, desperate rumble, it’s the closest he’ll ever get to begging.

There’s a heartbeat of silence.

Dark lashes flutter as Khadgar slowly opens his eyes, wincing even as he raises one hand to his temple.

Lothar’s hand catches his wrist, gentle but firm. “Don’t,” he says lowly and he manages to get the word out legibly through the torrent of relief that clogs his throat. “You’ll just make it worse.” 

He helps Khadgar up, and they stand like that, faces tilted towards each other, breathing soft, for one long moment.

Khadgar smiles and despite the bruised skin and blood from both his wound and Lothar’s hands, and the tremble in his body from exhaustion and pain - the smile is real and it’s warm.

It feels like the sun rising.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://tumbloncat.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i'm always up for screeching about anything :D


End file.
